The warm sun bathed Sean's skin, as he stood on Geneva's quai. A powerful fountain in the center of the Rade a powerful fountain spumed water hundreds of feet into the crystalline blue sky. The glaciers of Mt. Blanc gleamed to the south. The giant peak lay in France. If Sean stole the money in the case, he was heading there.
A horn blared behind Sean.
a silver Turbo Benz 500 with German plates pulled up to the curb before the rococo statue of a long-dead aristocrat. The passenger window rolled down and Kurt shouted to Sean, "I told you I would be here."
Several Swiss passers-by glared at the man inside. Yelling from a car your horn was not considered proper etiquette in staid Switzerland, then again Kurt was not Swiss and he said with a jerky voice, "Get in the car."
Sean threw his bag in the back and sat in the front.
"Did you sleep at all?" Sean surveyed the street for the police.
"An hour outside of Basel," Kurt spoke with a weary voice.
We can sleep after the drop-off."
"I want to get this money and then get over to Paris. That is all."
"Sure." Sean had no desire to argue with anyone in Kurt's state and checked his watch. "Then we better go."
The German stepped on the gas and the Mercedes sped down the street, narrowly missing several parked cars.
"Slow down." Sean hated bad driving.
"I know what I'm doing."
Kurt grabbed at his chest and struggled to gain his breath. He turned left onto Rue Vert-Fosse and braked before the bank's ornate doors.
"See. Safe and sound."
"I'll see you soon." Sean got out of the car.
"I'll be waiting."
Kurt glanced at the bank. The gray facade conveyed an eternal calm from the countless deals completed without anyone ever hearing about them, but the best way to rob a bank was from inside and that was exactly what Cali and Kurt were doing.
This was his OberSeminar, the final test for his life of crime. He had been a petty pickpocket, passed bad checks, burgled mansions for jewelry and art, sold stolen Rolls-Royces and Bentleys to Africa, dealt drugs, all of it small time in comparison to this score. In a few minutes he would be a millionaires and escape his life of crime for good. He could open a classic Caribbean restaurant on Montserrat and live well into the next century.
A guard moved nearer to the door and checked out the Mercedes. Fifty minutes remained till Three O'clock and the bank closed at Five. Hans Roth should have sent the wire at Twelve PM. Kurt had called Herr Egard to have all the money in the account ready for this afternoon's pick-up. Herr Egard told him everything was in place. Once Sean received the money, the guards would escort him to the car . He would give Sean his cut and be on his way.
By Monday the bankers would all be demanding who Sean Coll was and why he had been given the money. Kurt would be somewhere sunny and warm. He had been planning to be with Vanessa, but her interlude with him had been a sick joke on Lukas' part. They were both laughing at him now. The money he was about to receive would take away part of that sting.
The German grimaced, as an agonizing pain shot inside his chest. His hands fell from the steering wheel and he couldn't breathe again, until the tortuous wave subsided. Kurt had to calm down. Maybe he could get Sean to drive to Paris, so he could sleep. He stared inside the bank again and was annoyed Sean was taking so long.
A buzzing tunneled into his ears, but went away.
Finally Sean appeared at the doorway with the Halliburton case in his hand. He sat in the car and Kurt said, "Is that it?"
"Herr Egard said this cleaned out your account."
"How much was it?" Kurt asked with the elation of lottery winner waiting for the announcement of the sum.
"1,650,000 Swiss Francs."
Kurt calculated the exchange rate in his head and came up with the sum he had put into the account to accustom the bank to large money transactions. Kurt grabbed the case and opened it. The money barely filled the case. The driver exclaimed, "Where is the rest of it?"
"That's all I was given."
"There should be four or five million dollars."
"You want to search me?" Sean would have been satisfied with a tenth of that money.
"Go back in the bank and tell that fucking banker to call me on this number. Right fucking now." Kurt scrawled Cali's mobile phone number and passed the paper to Sean.
"Calm down, Kurt."
"I am calm,” exploded Kurt.
"I'm going."
Sean returned inside the bank and the guard closed the door behind him. A minute later the phone rang in the car. Kurt fumbled for the phone. Herr Egard asked, "Herr Oster, what seems to be the problem?"
"Where is the money?" Kurt demanded.
"That was all that was in your account, Herr Oster. I thought you would have more, but no new transfers enter your account this week."
"There has to be more."
"I am sorry. Herr Coll has examined the transaction records and he will verify what I have told you."
"Do you understand that I freed your son? That I paid for his release? That I have him in Thailand?"
"I understand all of that, Herr Oster. If more money was in the account, then I would have given it to you." Herr Egard had dealt with this situation before, when the 'customer' may think he's right, except the numbers never lie. "As it is, the sum you have is the exact amount that was in the account. I can only give you that. Maybe your money will show up Monday."
"No, it should be there now." Blood thrashed through his temples and he had to put down the phone. Someone had fucked him and it only could be someone he loved.
He pounded the steering wheel, till his face glowed a bright red and his ears deafened by a roar. Numbness prickled his fingers and toes. His hands gripped at his chest, as a stake was driven through his heart and an unbearable weight descended on his body. He leaned back in the seat and exhaled a breath from his lungs.
They would not get another.
Twenty minutes later Sean came out of the bank, holding a photocopy of the account's most recent transactions. He thanked the guard at the door and went to the Mercedes. Wearing sunglasses, Kurt appeared to be taking a nap, but Sean's opening the door should have woken him.
"Kurt, are you all right?" asked Sean asked, then saw that the German had stopped breathing. He felt for his pulse. There was none and Kurt was already losing the warm bloom of life.
"Kurt, motherfucking Kurt."
Sean expected him to come alive, except the Lazarus act wasn't working today.
Sean should have called the police, but they would ask questions, especially about the money in the case. Questions to which he had no answers and they wouldn't bring Kurt back to life, so Sean decided to leave the German where he was. Strangers would discover the body sooner or later. The police would canvass the neighborhood. Maybe Herr Egard would identify the body and maybe not.
Sean regarded the case on his lap. He had to tell Petra to get on a plane. They would meet and start a new life together. The same plan had failed with Tammi, but it had to work sometime. Sean was about to get out of the car to call Petra from a phone box, when the mobile phone rang. Cali was on the other end. "I want to speak to Kurt."
Sean said in English, "I have bad news. Kurt is dead."
"Dead. How?" This information stunned Kurt's friend.
"Heart attack in the car. He was already in bad shape, when I met him, but there seems to have been some trouble with the money and that sent him over the edge."
"What trouble with the money?"
Sean told Cali the exact sum he had received from the bank and the man on the other end asked, "Are you sure Kurt is dead?"
"He's cold as ice."
"Shit."
"My feeling exactly."
"Are the police there?"
"No."
"Good. I want you to drive to an address in Switzerland. My friends will bring him to Paris. You drive to Hamburg with the money."
"No fucking way." Cali would kill him, if he took the money in the case, but the pimp would have to find him first.
"If you don't run any red lights or crash the car, no police will stop you."
"No, I'll go to call the police and have them sort it out. That's their job, not mine."
"You'll do as I say and I give you one reason." Cali mentioned Petra's name and his address. "I don't want to hurt her, but I will. Kurt may have trusted you, Honky, but I ain't no stupid nigger."
"You motherfucker."
"I'm that and more. So Honky, is it yes or no?"
Sean warned him, "If you touch her, I'll kill you."
"I hate love stories with bad endings. Just trust me.”
"That's easy for you to say."
"Kurt was my friend. He was stupid about the drugs, but the money was nothing to die over. You have the money, yes?"
"Yes."
"Good. Drop off Kurt and then drive back to Hamburg. When you get close, give me a call." The line went dead.
When the street was clear, Sean swiftly moved Kurt into the back and buckled him upright with the seatbelt. Sean got behind the wheel and drove away. Like the dead man in the back seat he had no other choice other than to obey what was asked of him.
Maybe he never had.
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